Cherry Wine
by owlways-and-forever
Summary: Captain Swan modern AU. I'm bad at summaries, so just read it to find out what it's about. Don't own any of the characters, etc. Warning: mature subject matter.
1. Prologue

He remembers vividly the first time he met her. It hadn't been that long ago, at an event he had been invited to (albeit begrudgingly) by Mary Margaret. He had moved to the area recently and gotten off to the wrong footing, befriending an older, sweet (or so he thought) woman named Cora, who turned out to be not even remotely sweet. But Mary Margaret, ever the optimist, decided to invite him to the barbecue anyway, and he accepted hoping for a fresh start, a new beginning.

She had looked so beautiful that day, like an angel, long golden curls tumbling down across her shoulders and down the back of her red tank top. It had been hot out, but she was wearing jeans anyway, and despite his initial thought that she looked like heaven personified, she also looked strong, definitely a woman he would not want to mess with.

He had gone over to introduce himself, and though she smiled at his initial approach, he did not miss the slight flinch when he reached out his hand to shake hers. The flash of fear in her eyes was gone almost as quickly as it came, and most people would have missed it, but he was quite perceptive, and he did not.

He dismissed it initially, thinking he had been wrong (although he knew deep down in his gut that he was not), thinking that perhaps a bird had flown by and she had been afraid, or a shadow, or a memory… He should not have dismissed it so easily, he found out later. He should have known right then.


	2. Chapter 1

Killian could hear a lot of loud noises coming from the house next door – a crash that had been followed by the sounds of muffled yelling, then a loud thud against the wall. The back door slammed shut and he heard a car start and then drive away. What had happened over there? He wanted to go make sure Emma was alright, but he wasn't sure if he should. He didn't really know her, after all, just a brief chat and the barbecue and a handful of passings in the weeks since then. But… what if something was wrong? He could always just say he needed to borrow something if all seemed well… With that, he made up his mind, gently lifting his dog's head off his lap and getting to his feet. (Sirius barely even registered the change in position, the lazy hound.) Barefoot, he padded out the front door and down the stairs of his porch, opening his front gate, but he hesitated before opening hers. This wasn't weird, was it? This was just neighborly concern, right? It had nothing to do with how damn attractive he found her. She was engaged, after all, he reminded himself. He shivered a little as a breeze swept through the cool night air, licking over his bare arms and raising little goosebumps. Bravely, he pushed open Emma's gate and walked up to her front door, knocking lightly. It took a minute for her to open the door, but as soon as she did, he was glad he had decided to come over after all.

"Killian?" she asked, by way of greeting, confused by his presence. She was standing tall and proud – no, strong – in the open doorway, but her body betrayed her manner. Her eyes were red and wet with tears, a red handprint on her upper arm already starting to turn black and blue.

"Hi, Emma, are you alright?" Her face hardened as the muscles in her jaw clenched and her eyes grew cold.

"I'm fine," she said stiffly, shifting toward the frame so the door closed slightly.

"It's just, I heard a crash, and I thought I'd, and, well, you just, you don't look fine, you look like you've been crying," Killian babbled nervously.

"Well, I'm fine." When he didn't immediately make any motion to leave, she added, "I just dropped a plate, is all, really, I'm okay."

"Emma, you're bleeding," he answered, raising an eyebrow.

"I – what?" she responded, caught off guard.

"Your foot, it's bleeding."

"Oh s**t, I must have stepped on something." She immediately lifted the injured foot off the ground. "Um, sorry to have disturbed you, but you should probably –"

"Let me help you," he said.

"What? That's really not necessary. I can –"

"I don't doubt that," he said, cutting her off again. "Let me help you, please."

"Fine," she said, after pausing a moment to consider him. She held open the door and he held her elbow in support as she hobbled up the stairs and into the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet. He took the washcloth hanging up and dabbed it under warm water from the sink, before holding to the bottom of Emma's foot, wiping away the blood. He pressed lightly around the cut, trying to ascertain whether there was any ceramic inside, but it seemed okay, so he resumed his efforts to make the bleeding stop.

"So where'd that bruise come from?' he ventured cautiously, nodding to her arm.

"Oh, I, um, I must have hit the countertop while I was cleaning up." She avoided his eyes and tugged at the sleeve of her t-shirt, trying unsuccessfully to cover the bruise.

"Emma…"

"Killian." The ferocity in her voice surprised him a little. He went back to cleaning the wound in her foot quietly. When the bleeding had (mostly) stopped, he opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out Neosporin and bandaids, noting with interest the athletic tape there too, and then grabbing it as an afterthought. He spread a thick coat of the antibacterial over the wound and laid two bandaids aross, then ripped off a piece of the tape to cover it and wrap around the top of her foot. That would hold it in place better.

"Emma, is something going on over here? Is Walsh…? You could tell me, you know." He stared at her earnestly, begging her to see in his eyes that he wasn't lying, that she could trust him.

"Everything is fine, Killian." Her tone was not quite as harsh as before, but it had a definite note of finality. "Thank you for your help." She stood and he took that as his signal to leave, marching down the stairs and out the door. He paused and turned to look at her before she shut the door, scratching behind his ear in the way he always does when he's nervous.

"If you ever need anything…" he told her shyly, yet silently praying she knew he was sincere.

"I know where to find you. Goodbye Killian." And with that, she shut the door, and he was dismissed.

He turned his footsteps back toward his own house, thinking about the lengths he would go to protect this woman. If only she would let him. How could he help her if she would not admit to him what was happening? He would have to figure out some way, because he simply could not let this continue.

On the other side of the door, Emma stood with her back against the wood, trying to take deep breaths to stop the tears from flowing freely. She shouldn't have to deal with this, shouldn't have to lie to her neighbor, who was kind enough to check on her, shouldn't have to hide from her son, hoping he wouldn't accidentally grab a bruise he didn't know existed, shouldn't have to conceal the grimaces when he gave her a hug at the end of the day. She didn't deserve this. And yet, there was a little voice in her head, telling her she was worthless, stupid, clumsy. Telling her it was her fault for dropping the damn plate. Telling her that Walsh loved her, and it was her fault for testing his patience. He would come home in an hour with flowers, she knew, to show he cared, and all would be forgiven.

But just for a second, she wondered what it would be like to have a life with a man who put her back together instead of tearing her apart.


	3. Chapter 2

The next time he saw her was about a week and a half later, when she was meeting her son (Henry he thinks) from the bus after school, and though the boy doesn't see, Killian doesn't miss her wince when he wraps his arm around his mother's waist. This was all the confirmation he needed.

He needed to help her, but in order to do that, he needed to get her to talk to him, really talk, not just a fleeting conversation that she shuts down quickly.

_Hi, Mary Margaret? It's Killian_, he types out on his phone. _I was wondering if you could give me Miss Swan's phone number._

_Why?_ she texts back suspiciously.

He has to think of a cover story quickly – _I'm going out of town and I wanted to ask if she could dogsit for me. _

_Oh. Sure. (xxx) xxx-xxxx._

_Thanks. See you around._

He saved the number Mary Margaret supplied in his contact list and then sat down on his couch, absentmindedly stroking Sirius' head as he mulled over how best to execute the next part of his plan. After a few moments, he decided it was best to stick to the same story, although he would have to actually go out of town somewhere then, but he would figure out that detail later.

_Hi Emma, this is Killian, your neighbor. I was wondering if we could grab coffee, maybe sometime this weekend? I have a favor to ask._

It was a few hours before he got a response from her, which he supposed shouldn't surprise him, although the wait made him anxious (not that he would ever admit that).

_Sure, that's fine. How's Saturday afternoon? Henry is going to a friend's so I have some free time._

He rejoiced inwardly. His plan was working. Now all he had to do was… convince her to trust him, knock down all her walls and get her to confess all the problems in her life right now. No problem.

"So, Killian, what's this all about?" Emma inquired the moment they sat down at one of the little tables in the local Starbucks.

"What's the rush, love?" he teased. "Why not get to know each other a bit first? We are neighbors after all."

"Yes, I'm aware that we're neighbors." He sensed her body tighten, shutting herself off from his prying.

"Well then, why not be friends as well?"

"I've got all the friends I need, thank you very much." She stiffened more, visibly this time, every muscle in her body contracting. And yet, her eyes didn't look closed off, only wary, as though she were having an internal battle over whether or not to trust him. He suspected her gut said she should (he was very trustworthy, not to mention charming) but that was a foreign concept to her.

"I don't think so, love. But even if you do, what's the harm in one more?" He leaned in slightly, raising an eyebrow and smiling warmly.

"Start talking, pirate."

"Pirate? I'm offended!" He laughed genuinely, but he supposed he had earned the nickname. "What would you like to know about me, love?" She looked like she's about to say that she doesn't want to know anything, but curiosity got the better of her. He was offering her an answer to any question she desired, and that was too good an opportunity to pass up. Still, she started small, testing him.

"Where are you from? And why'd you move here?"

"Originally, I am from a small seafaring town in England," he answers honestly. "After my mother died, my brother and I moved to Massachusetts, lived with some distant cousin named Wendy. My brownstone, it used to be my brother's. When I got discharged from the Navy, I had nowhere else to live, so I figured that was as good a place as any." The memory pains him a little bit, but he tries to hide it.

"What happened to your brother?"

"Oh no, it's my turn to ask the questions, love," Killian responded playfully. "What do you do for a living?"

"I work for the FBI," she said with a grin, "tracking down white collar criminals." He made a mental note never to attempt embezzlement, fraud or anything of a similar nature. "What happened to your brother?" she asks, determined to get her answer.

"He died," he answers flatly. "A few years ago. His name was Liam." She looked apologetic, gently reaching out a hand to place cover his. "What's the story, with your son?" Emma looked a little uncomfortable, but she didn't withdraw.

"I was seventeen, and stupid. I thought I was in love. Well, no, I _was_ in love, and I thought he was too, but it turned out he wasn't. He was using me. I ended up with Henry and he ended up, I don't know, not there." She sipped her coffee slowly while Killian waited for her to continue. "He didn't even know about Henry until about two years ago," she whispered. "Anyway, he died recently."

"That must have been tough for the boy," Killian said sympathetically, "and for you." She nodded.

"So what about you? Who broke your heart?" Emma asked perceptively.

"Ah, that would be Milah. Lovely woman. Married though. I met her at a bar when I was a fair bit younger, and the two of us carried on for quite a bit. Until her husband found out and he, he… killed her." She tightened her grip on his hand.

"I'm so sorry. What happened to him?"

"Well, there was no evidence that he did it, cunning crocodile that he is, so to my knowledge, he is still roaming the earth, free as a bird."

"That sucks. Like really, really sucks." He smiled ever so slightly.

"Yes, that it does. So. My turn again. What," he hesitated somewhat, "is the going on with you and Walsh?" He knew he had touched a nerve – she pulled away instantly, her hand dropping to her lap and her eyebrows furrowing with suspicion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you, Emma, a beautiful, strong woman, engaged to a man who hits you?"

"He doesn't –" she begins to protest, but he cuts her off.

"Don't lie to me, Emma," he says firmly, sounding somewhat harsher than he intended. But she had to know, she _had to know_ that this was not okay, that he wouldn't let her get hurt. He could not explain why he felt so protective of this woman he hardly knew, and yet he knew without a doubt that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. She was sitting across from him now, shaking her head vigorously, and looking down at her lap. "Emma, please, explain to me what is happening. Explain why?"

"I don't know, Killian." She shook her head again, tears starting to fall. "He didn't use to be this way. I don't know what happened, what changed. But it doesn't matter, it's my fault. It's always my fault, he only does it because I provoke him, because I screw up. If I didn't fuck up so much –"

"Emma, no. That's not right. Not matter how much you screw up, that doesn't give him the right to hurt you. Ever."

"He just gets angry," she rationalized. "He can't help it. It's not his fault."

"Yes, it is! _He_ is hitting _you_, how could that be anyone's fault but his?" Killian clenched his fists, trying desperately not to get angry. How could she believe that this was alright?

"Killian, you don't understand," Emma said, standing up and starting to walk away. Killian quickly jumped up and ran after her, gently grabbing her wrist so as not to startle her.

"Emma, has he ever hit Henry?" She spun around to face him.

"No! Of course not. I would never stay with a man who hurt my son. Or even tried to."

"Then why can't you be as protective of yourself as you are of your son?" This gave her pause.

"I – I don't know." She ran a hand through her hair, mussing it up.

"Emma," he said gently, placing one hand on each of her arms, "just, promise me that the next time you think he's getting angry enough that he might hurt you, come over to my place. Promise me that." She nodded and he pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her in what felt, to him at least, in a little more than platonic hug. "I swear, I'm going to help you figure out how to make this better."


End file.
